


Original Fiction: Rafelo

by paranoidfighter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Original Fiction, Other, Short Stories, non-fandom writing, original writing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11023299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoidfighter/pseuds/paranoidfighter
Summary: A collection of snippits and short stories from a larger piece that I'm working on.This story is about an orphaned boy trying to find his father in a world recovering from nuclear warfare and the people he meets along the way.





	1. Introduction: Meet Rafelo

The world was small.

The lands had been explored, the oceans mapped, the skies claimed. Cities soared above as empires sprawled below. Magic had been replaced with mathematics; spirituality with science.

The world was small.

He stared down at his map. There were no more mysteries on the map; every plot of land was documented. Every river, mountain and city was laid out before him on the well-worn canvas. He folded the fabric and shoved it into his pocket before turning the key to the ignition. His motorcycle roared as it sprang to life. He rubbed the rat skull that hung between the handlebars as he listened to the engine purring. His dark eyes stared out towards the horizon, to the ruined remains of the once-paved highway. Even though the road had been reclaimed by the desert, he knew the route he had to travel to find his way back to the woman he called Mother. She wasn’t his mother, not by a long shot, but she was still a mother. He just didn’t know what she was a mother of…

Rafelo shook his head as he raised the kickstand on his bike. The heavy tires sent gravel flying as he sped down the weathered highway. He knew he needed to see Mother, knew that Mother could help him with the questions he had. After all, the questions he had weren’t ones that could be answered with math and science.

The world was small, he knew, but there was room enough for magic between the letters on his crowded map.

He sped down the road towards Mother’s ancient cabin under the light of the full moon. All around him were the shadows of the life that once filled the wastelands, but Rafelo paid them no mind. He had grown numb to such sights, had learned to ignore them after realizing that no one else could see what he did. With a shake of his helmeted head, he forced his mind to clear as his bike thundered down the ancient highway.


	2. Chapter 2

Rafelo had killed the engine of his bike almost a quarter of a mile away from Mother’s house; he knew her chickens didn’t like the loud roar of his motorcycle. The walk was tedious, as it always was, but Rafelo didn’t complain. He pushed his bike down the flat, dusty road and ignored the sweat that trickled down his back as he walked past the clucking birds.   
“Hello Miss Molly Ban,” he said to a large white hen that hopped onto the seat, “how’s things?”  
The bird nattered and chattered as she settled herself down, content to let Rafelo’s bike carry her back to Mother’s home. The young man smiled at the plump bird before turning his gaze back to the distant cabin.

 

Miss Molly Ban fluttered her way down to the ground as Rafelo lowered the kickstand to his bike. The chicken waddled away as he carefully climbed up the weathered steps. It was always an adventure, traveling to Mother’s home, but it was always worth it. This time he had been lucky - he had only seen two helicopters and six twin cobras! Rafelo sat down on the small bench beside the front door as he pulled off his heavy boots and socks. Mother’s home was the only place that where he’d remove his socks and shoes without being prompted; it never felt right to him to bring the outside world into her home.

 

With his socks and boots safely stowed inside a heavy locker, the young man washed his hands and face with the water from his canteen. He took a drink before pouring some over his feet, wriggling his toes in the tiny puddle. He sat back on the bench and stared out over Mother’s home as the water slowly evaporated. It was always wonderful to come here, to her oasis within the New Mojave Desert. All around him were clucking chickens and an old heifer that he called Lulubell; the animals picked at the thick grass around the fence of Mother’s vegetable garden, never once crossing into the tilled soil. It was as if the world had passed over this land when the Expansion came, he thought as he watched the idyllic scene. Rafelo inhaled deeply before standing up and making his way to the front door.

 

It was time to see Mother.

 

The door swung open on well-oiled hinges as the scent of clary sage and lavender washed over him. He felt himself relaxing as he stepped deeper into the dimly lit cabin. All around him were drying herbs and books in languages he didn’t know, their gilded covers illuminated by the stained glass windows. He made his way into the kitchen and smiled as he saw a basket full of blueberry muffins on the counter. Even though he had not told her that he was coming, she still had his favourite treat ready and waiting for him. The steam from the muffins gently wafted up to the ceiling, teasing his senses. Rafelo forced himself to walk calmly over to the basket before taking two muffins - the first of which he inhaled in three bites. He never knew how she did it, but Mother’s blueberry muffins were the most delicious things he had ever eaten. Each berry was always perfectly ripe and bursting with earthy sweetness. He savoured the second muffin as he made his way deeper into the house.

 

Rafelo made his way down a flight of well-worn steps as he licked the crumbs from his fingers. The air was thicker here, heavy and warm - it always struck him as intimate. Well, as intimate as a sauna filled with incense could be, he thought with a shrug. Rafelo shook his head and walked down the dim corridor, ignoring the flickering blue flames that floated above his head. He gently knocked on the door at the end of the hall and smiled as it swung open.

Mother was sitting with her long legs folded underneath her, her spindly hands resting in her lap. Her head was lowered, her eyes fixed on the shew stone in front of her. With every soft inhalation, the crystals within her headdress chimed and twinkled, suspended on fine silver threads between the points of the antlers. Underneath the pronged skull was a long black shroud that faded into her ancient robes; the fabric of her robes covered her willowy frame, showing only her pale blue hands that were all but dripping in gemstones. She slowly raised her head and stared at Rafelo through the empty sockets of the skull.  
“Hello again, little Rafelo,” her hidden smile was visible within her voice.  
“Hello, Mother. I’m home.” His own smile grew as he sat down in front of her, his beady eyes shining as he felt her unseen gaze upon him.  
“Long you were gone, my child, but I am glad that you have returned. The days have been lonely with only the hens for company.” She tilted her head as she let her eyes rove over the young man’s body. “You have been sick recently, yes?”  
“It wasn’t anything major, y'know; just sun sickness and some rations that went bad.”  
“You are still sick, little Rat,” she tutted with a shake of her head; a crystalline ringing filled the quiet air.  
Rafelo stared down at his own hands. “A little - but it’s not why I’m here.”  
“Then why are you here?”  
“I’ve been having dreams. Well, a dream. The same dream, over and over for months now. It happened a few months ago and it was just one time, but over the past few weeks, I have the same dream at least three or four times a week. I didn’t know what to do, so…”  
“So you came here?” Her voice was kindly.  
“y-Yeah. I thought if anyone could help me, it’d be you.”

 

Mother smoothed her robes as she nodded. “Yes, I can help you, but you know the rules, Rafelo.”  
“I know… but what if I have the dream tonight but don’t have it tomorrow night? I don’t know how long I’ll be here if we don’t get started now.”  
“Are you in that much of a rush to leave?”  
“I…” He stared down at his hands again. “No, I’m not. I don’t want to go any time soon. I like it here.”  
“Then there is no rush.” Mother slowly rose to her feet. “Come, let us go upstairs. We will be spending enough time here soon enough.” She let Rafelo take her hand as they walked back into the house proper. The young man’s head barely came to the middle of her chest; with her headdress, she was almost twice the size of the diminutive vagrant.

 

The pair made their way into a sunlit sitting room in silence. Rafelo made himself comfortable in a worn armchair as a hen hopped onto the window ledge outside.  
“Mother?” Rafelo called into the kitchen. “Can I let Miss Molly Ban inside?”  
“You may,” her voice was alive with quiet amusement.  
“Thanks!” The young man stared at the window, focusing his will on the latch. He bit his tongue between his prominent front teeth as he moved his hand. A second later, the lock was undone and the window opened. The hen clucked as she made her way inside and up to Rafelo’s lap. He put a hand on the soft bird’s back as he lowered the window with his other, redoing the latch with a flick of his wrist. With a smile, Rafelo stroked the chicken’s feathers.

Mother stepped into the room and placed a tray down onto an ancient table. She poured two cups of tea before settling down onto a well-worn couch. Never once did her robes rise up from the floor, even as she sat. The woman brought the cup under the nasal bones of her headdress and sipped her tea; Rafelo didn’t comment as the cup vanished into the black folds of her robes. He looked down at the other tea cup and held out a hand as he focused. The cup clattered on the saucer before it slowly rose and drifted over to his outstretched hand.

 

Only two drops spilled onto the floor.

 

“You have been practicing,” Mother said proudly.  
“Yeah, when I can. It’s hard to do with the helicopters, though. Every time I try, they seem to get closer. I always have to lose them and it takes a while…”  
“You have not been caught though, yes?”  
“Nope. They’ve come close a few times, but they’ve not caught me yet. My bike’s fast.” He beamed. “And I stole a camo cloak a while ago. If I can’t outrun ‘em, I just hide. It’s worked so far.”  
“Be careful, little Rat. You play a dangerous game with a very large cat.” The woman warned as she placed her teacup back on the tray.  
“I am. I promise, I am.” He sipped his tea as Miss Molly Ban pecked at his dusty clothing. “I made sure I didn’t see a single chopper for a week before I came here.”  
“That is good to hear. When you finish your tea, I will draw up a bath for you. It will help with the residual sickness… and please, bring in your packs. I would like to wash your clothing for you. It is clear you have not done so in a very long time.”  
Rafelo felt himself flushing. “Y'don’t have to, y'know.”  
“Little one, you yourself call me Mother. It is my duty and my pleasure.” Her laughter was light, chiming just like her crystal headdress.

The young man lowered his head as he tried to hide his smile.


	3. Rafelo has a nightmare | Mother makes some tea

“Do I have to?” He whined, asking the question for the sixth time in an hour.  
“Yes,” Mother said wearily, “yes, you do.”  
“But I don’t want to!”  
“You never want to.” She sighed as she sprinkled a handful of herbs into the hot water. “It will make you feel better.”  
“I feel fine!”  
“Really?” She turned her antlered head towards the young man; the expressionless skull still managed to look annoyed as she fixed him with her unseen gaze. “So I am just imagining your fevered skin and sour stomach, then?”  
Rafelo stared down at his bare toes, shying away from the eyeless skull. “…no…”  
“Undress and take a bath, Rafelo. You will feel better afterwards.”  
“Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll take a bath…”  
“Wash your hair.” Mother drew herself up to her impressive height as she looked to the young wastrel. “And scrub behind your ears.” The woman left the bathroom, smiling as she listened to Rafelo’s idle complaining.

 

When the door closed, Rafelo slowly undressed before stepping into the claw-footed tub. He wouldn’t admit it, but he really didn’t mind taking baths - he just hated having to carry in the water to fill the huge tub. Mother had insisted on making him warm the water, though, telling him that it would be good practice. She was right, he knew, but it didn’t make the whole ordeal any less pleasant.

 

…at least this time he didn’t set the tub on fire…

 

He sank down into the warm water and closed his eyes, quietly basking in the scents of the herbs. He didn’t have names for what he smelled, but Mother had said all of the herbs and oils would soothe his aches and fevers. Rafelo closed his eyes and let himself sink fully beneath the water. He scrubbed at his hair, listening to the muffled splashes, reveling in the sensations of the warm water and Mother’s herbs. He wasn’t sure what she had done, but the water felt different - he felt like his entire body was tingling.

His head broke the surface as he inhaled and blinked in surprise. The water should’ve been filthy, he knew; it had been far, far too long since he had been able to properly bathe. Instead, the water was crystal clear, save for Mother’s dried herbs and oils. Deciding not to question it, he grabbed the soft cloth and soap that Mother had left for him…

 

By the time Rafelo had emerged from the bath, Mother had prepared dinner for the wayfaring youth. He breathed in the scents of roasted vegetables, sliced fruits and fresh bread, all but drooling as he stared at the veritable feast in front of him. She had even cooked a fish for him! The small trout was nestled down among the roasted vegetables, split on its underside and stuffed full of herbs.  
“Is this all for me?” He asked quietly, disbelief clear in his eyes as his stomach began to rumble loudly.  
“Of course, little one.” She said kindly. “You are looking far, far too thin.”  
He sat down on the spindly chair and felt his eyes starting to burn with unshed tears. “All of this is for me?” He asked again; the plates before him held more food than he had eaten in almost three weeks.  
“Yes, my child.” Her jeweled hand gently rubbed his back. “Don’t cry, Rafelo. Please eat.”  
“I’m not…” he wiped at his eyes, “I’m not crying.”  
“No, you’re not.” Her voice held her smile. She stroked his damp hair before settling herself across from him, contentedly sipping her tea as she watched Rafelo digging into the plates before him…

 

For the first time in a long time, Rafelo went to bed with a full stomach.

He stared up at the ceiling as his hands absently stroked the ancient quilts. All around him hung bouquets of drying lavender, clary sage and countless other herbs that he couldn’t identify. He liked how they smelled, though.

His eyes focused on the silver threads that covered the ceiling, letting himself get lost in the intricately woven patterns. Crystals were dispersed throughout the webbing, small ones that glittered in the light of the moon and the few burning candles that were scattered about the room. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He still wasn’t used to the soft bed that he was lying on, but he found himself enjoying it - it was far more comfortable than sleeping out in the desert sands.

A soft tapping sound drew his attention to the window, rousing him from his stupor. Sitting up, he turned his gaze to the source of the noise and found himself smiling as he saw Miss Molly Ban tap-tapping at the window with her beak. Rafelo bit his lip as he focused on the lock, forcing his will onto the thin threads of magic that drifted around him.

Slowly, very slowly, the latch opened and the large white hen hopped through the window with a flutter of her wings. She made her way over to the bed as Rafelo lowered the window and re-locked it, his tongue held between his prominent front teeth in concentration. The chicken nestled down next to the young man, quietly clucking in his ear as his arm curled around her fluffy body.  
“You know Mother doesn’t like you spending the night inside,” he told the bird. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”  
Miss Molly Ban turned to meet his gaze, tilting her head as she quietly chattered, as if she was complaining about the idea of spending the night outside.  
“I know, I know. It’s her rule, but I don’t care.” He grinned as he watched her making herself comfortable. “I mean, so long as you don’t make a mess, it should be fine.” He stroked her back and smiled as he watched her eyes closing. “G'night, Miss Molly Ban. I missed you.”  
With a ruffle of feathers and a single cluck, the chicken fell asleep. Rafelo joined her in slumber only moments later.

 

He could hear them coming long before he ever saw them.

The blades were slicing through the air, disrupting the silent night with their low moans. He felt himself being shaken awake, heard the fear in Papa’s voice as he stumbled to his feet. They gathered up their few belongings as quickly as they could and started to run. Rafelo felt himself being pulled by his wrist, his small legs struggling to keep up with Papa’s strides. He didn’t voice his pain.

Papa threw him over his shoulder, running faster through the dark night. They were closer now.

Rafelo dimly knew they wouldn’t fire their guns; Papa had told them that they wanted them to be alive. They wouldn’t kill–

Papa fell with a stifled grunt.

Rafelo rolled across the sands as he heard heavy boots hitting the ground. The night was filled with the sounds of helicopters, shouting soldiers and, above all, Papa’s shouting.

He pushed himself to his feet and stared in horror at the sight of the soldiers holding Papa up by his now-bound arms.  
“PAPA!” He cried, tears filling his eyes. “Papa, no!”  
“Run!” He shouted. “Go!”  
“No!” Rafelo shook his head as he tried to push the tears aside, struggling to grasp the threads of magic that floated just beyond his vision. He felt the winds around him shifting, gathering, swi–

A bullet grazed his cheek.

He turned and ran, tripping over his feet in his haste. He heard the soldiers shouting and knew they were not far behind.

His eyes caught sight of a tall, thin form standing in the distance. An antlered skull stood where its head should have been, its body clad in robes darker than the night sky. Rafelo glanced over his shoulder at the rapidly approaching soldiers and looked back at the skull. He began running towards it, screaming for help. Something, anything, would be better than the soldiers trying to kill him.

 

He did not expect the skull to approach him.

 

It drifted towards him, as if it was floating over the sands. It came to a halt before him and put a hand on his head. It was blue. “Stand behind me,” the voice was soft, feminine, “and close your eyes.” She gently pushed him behind her.

Rafelo clutched the figure’s robes as the soldiers shouted at her to stand aside, to give them the child. The woman did not move, except to raise her hand.

He felt the air growing warmer, impossibly hot. He clung tighter to her robes as the roar of fire filled his ears.

The roar was soon impossible to hear over the shrieking of men and women.

She lowered her hand and looked–

 

"Rafelo!“

His eyes shot open as he stared up at the webbed ceiling. He was panting, sweating; his hair clung to his forehead, his hands trembling as they held the blankets. Miss Molly Ban was frantically clucking and racing around the room, squawking her displeasure at Rafelo’s thrashing. He looked to his side and saw Mother kneeling by his bed, the empty eyes of the skull staring into his own.  
"My child,” she said softly, “what happened?”  
“I…” He slowly pushed himself, up, staring down at his blanket-covered lap. “I… had a bad dream.”  
“I see.” She came to sit on the foot of the bed. “What was your dream? Was it the one you have been having frequently?”  
“No, no, it wasn’t that one.” He wiped away the sweat as the white hen jumped onto the bed. He crossed his legs and pulled the chicken to him, hugging her as he closed his eyes. “It was the night the soldiers took Papa away.”  
“I see…”  
“I still hear the screams,” his voice was soft, almost hollow, “I still hear them screaming when you burned them.”  
“I am sorry, Rafelo, but I had no choice.”  
“I know.” He did not look to her. “I know, but… I just… I hear them. Sometimes. I mean, when it’s late and I’m alone in the desert. If I’m near there, I hear them. I’m afraid of them. What if they come back? What if they haven’t passed on? I don’t–”  
“Hush.” Mother said firmly. “They are dead and they are gone. I can assure you of that.”  
“How? How can–”  
“Do not question me on this.” Her voice had developed a slight edge. “Trust me when I tell you that those soldiers will never haunt you.”  
Rafelo said nothing as he held Miss Molly Ban to his chest, biting his lip as he avoided Mother’s gaze.

 

She sat back slightly and stared at the young man. She knew he was still afraid - who wouldn’t be? That night would have been horrific for anyone, especially for a child.  
“Rafelo,” she said calmly, placing a hand on his knee, “would you like for me to make you some milk tea?”  
Slowly, silently, Rafelo nodded as he stroked the white feathers.  
“Alright, I will return shortly. Breathe easy, my child; you are safe here." 

She rose and left the room without another word..

Mother drifted through the halls, listening to the soft chiming of her crystal-adorned skull as she traced a blue finger over a large ruby. The spirits of the soldiers would never haunt Rafelo, she thought as her smile grew darker. It was dark magic she had cast that night - dark, wicked magic that was forbidden within her homelands. To deprive a soul of its afterlife was the most heinous crime that one could ever commit.

 

And she had done it six times over with one burst of flame.

 

After the soldiers had died, Rafelo had sunk to his knees in terror. She looked to him but had said nothing - at least, she hadn’t said anything that he could hear. Rafelo was unconscious before his body fell onto the sands. Mother had looked to him for only a moment more before she left his side. She approached the smoldering remains of the soldiers and lightly sorted through them, smiling as she plucked polished diamond after ruby after sapphire out of the ashes. With only a whisper, the stones attached themselves to the chains.

 

They were but six of many, many more…

 

She hummed to herself as she filled an old mug with milk, working methodically as she gradually warmed the liquid. She, too, was still visited by memories of that night, but they were not as jarring to her as they were to the wayward youth. In fact, the memories were almost pleasant - she had found another majii after decades of searching. Yes, there were wise women and wizened old men that sometimes stumbled across her desert oasis, but they merely held a spark of power within them. Even if she could combine all of the magic held by those who had visited her, they would never compare to the forest fire that was Rafelo’s magic. He was filled with raw power and energy. If she did not know better, she would have said that the youth was of her own kin. He wasn’t, though; he was just a human.

 

She placed a pinch of dried leaves into a small pouch and tied it off with a single string. She let it steep in the warm milk, still humming her quiet song. In the morning, she would begin Rafelo’s lessons again. She knew he needed guidance - his casting was clumsy and slow, wasteful in its approach and execution. He exhausted himself casting anything past a small spell, too lost in the rush of power to worry about technique. It was true that he could sometimes perform great feats, but it was dangerous for him to do so; within moments of casting, exhaustion would claim his diminutive form.

 

Well, no, she thought as she cradled the cup in her hands. He had been making great strides over the past two years, in many ways. There was still plenty of room for improvement, she knew, but for a human he had been making phenomenal strides in his abilities. She knew it would require more time and patience, though, if he were to continue to improve.

 

…Mother also knew that teaching him patience would be about as easy as controlling the winds - without magic.


	4. Rafelo is chased

Rafelo stared into his campfire. A small spit had been hastily constructed and now held a baby twin cobra, the young snake’s skin sizzling in the dark night. Rafelo wiped the blade of his knife on his pants and sheathed it as he pressed on the spit’s pedal, watching as it slowly began to rotate. With a smug smile, Rafelo watched as the coiled snake started to cook on the spit that he had built out of a salvaged bicycle. With his foot pumping the pedal, he pulled a harmonica out of his pocket and began to play.

 

The wavering music filled the silent night as the world began to glow with a pale blue hue.

 

It started slowly - a rabbit crept up to him before scampering back into the long-dead grasses that were waving in an unfelt wind. Rafelo didn’t look to the ghostly animal as he continued to play, swaying with his song.

 

Rabbits soon gave way to oxen. The majestic beasts grazed around him, eating their fill on the sweet prairie grasses as they listened to the music. The night was now filled with the chirping of crickets and the cries of the bats that zipped overhead, leaving trails of ether in their wake. Rafelo paid them no mind as he continued to play - he was used to their soft sounds and their unassuming presence, was used to them chasing away the ghostly bugs that tried to swarm his eyes and ears.

 

Rafelo did not raise his eyes until he heard singing and the strumming of a banjo.

 

To his left now sat an old wanderer, his transparent hands plucking the banjo’s strings. Other men and women soon appeared, clapping and cheering as a young woman stood and shook out her skirts. With laughter that pierced the veil of time, the woman began to tap her feet as her traveling companions began to sing.

 

The woman’s hips spun a story as she swayed through the smoke, her hands clapping out a rhythm that was matched by her bare feet. Coins and medallions hung from her many scarves, chiming in time with the beat of an old drum. Her eyes met Rafelo’s as she danced, speaking to him without ever saying a word. Rafelo’s heart pounded within his frail chest as she beckoned to him, crooking her finger as she laughed and twirled. He never stopped playing his harmonica even though he could barely take his eyes off of the dancing gypsy…

With his harmonica tucked safely in his pocket, Rafelo began to eat as he listened to the travelers tell their story. They spoke of the land that once was, the land where they had made their home after years of wandering. They told him of a nearby spring that had yet to run dry, although the water was buried deep away. With some coaxing, they assured him, the water would flow right to the surface. It was pure water - a rarity in the post-Expansion world - and would be more than enough to fill his canteens.

 

Before Rafelo could ask them anything else, the buffalo began to stampede.

 

The woman’s eyes stared up at the darkened sky as she quickly stood.  
“War birds,” she whispered, “they’re coming. We must go.” She looked down to Rafelo and bowed her head. “Avoid the owl’s gaze, little rat.”  
Her fellows stood and bowed before they vanished into the dark night, taking with them their music and the pale grasses that shone in the moonlight.

 

Within seconds, Rafelo found himself sitting alone in the desert with only his small fire.

 

He scrambled to his feet as he stamped out the fire, piling dirt over the flames. He watched as the tendrils of smoke drifted up from the ashes and swore violently. He tore into his saddle bags and pulled out his stolen camo-cloak before simply kicking his junk-heap of a motorcycle down into the dirt. Rafelo clutched the fabric to his chest as he ran deeper into the desert, his dinner now buried in the dirt beside his extinguished fire.

 

He threw nervous glances over his shoulder as he heard the helicopters approaching. He could almost feel the air swirling around the blades as he scanned the dark landscape for cover, cursing the desert as he saw only endless sand and dirt. With a final swear, he threw himself down onto the ground and pulled the cloak over his body…

Rafelo’s eyes closed as he forced himself to stay still. His heart hammered against his ribs as he heard the helicopters hovering above him. The shouting of soldiers and the sounds of boots hitting the ground made his heart skip a beat.

 

They weren’t far away.

 

Rafelo’s eyes pricked with moisture as he felt cold dread swallowing him whole. 

 

The ground began to thump as the men walked towards him.

 

Lying prone, with his face in the dirt, Rafelo was too afraid to breathe. There was nothing he could do. His knives were useless against the guns and body armour of the soldiers. Any magic would only draw them closer. Biting his lip, Rafelo thought back to Miss Molly Ban and to Mother, to her blueberry muffins and to the sunny living room where he could drink lavender tea. He wanted nothing more than to go back to her home.

 

He didn’t know if he’d get the chance.

 

The soldiers were growing smarter, were faster to find his trail. Mother had sent him away before the helicopters had found her home, but it was evident now that they had never been far behind. Hiding under his cloak, he said his praye–

 

–he bit his tongue as he felt his hand crushed beneath the heavy heel of a boot.

 

The soldier marched onward, scanning the landscape with night-vision goggles. They had all seen the warmth of the fire on the monitors within the helicopters from miles away, but now that they were here, it was clear to them that their prey had known they were coming. They knew he wasn’t far away now, but he had managed to vanish from beneath their noses. Again.

 

They continued to search the lands as they circled further and further from the campfire, griping their frustrations over their radios as the watched the night sky growing lighter. All fucking night had been spent searching for the wastrel, just like they had been doing for the past six fucking months! They weren’t the only crew to be searching for the little bastard, either. Their commander had three platoons searching for him all over the country and had even placed a bounty on the man’s head, but no one had managed to find a trace of him.

 

Their radios crackled with the order to return to their helicopters. They had spent over three hours combing the desert but their searches had turned up nothing - as usual. Sergeant Adams stormed his way back to the landed helicopters, staring at the cold, rusted motorcycle that was yards away from the remains of a campfire. He leaned down and unscrewed the cap to the gas tank, grinning to himself as he looked down at it.  
“Hey, Dozer,” Sergeant Adams shouted.  
“What?”  
“Shoot this!” He threw the cap like a Frisbee, watching as it soared through the air.  
“Fuck!” Dozer raised his rifle and fired, swearing as he lost sight of the tiny metal disk. “What the shit was that for–”

 

“COBRA!”

 

Dozer and Sergeant Adams spun around as they stared at Corporal Scott, watching as he raised his rifle. They could hear the hissings of the monstrous snake, only to retreat to their helicopters as they saw the ground quickly turning into an ocean of scales.

 

The pilots were shouting at the soldiers to get back in the helicopters - the wastrel wasn’t here anymore.

 

Corporal Scott fired into the mass of snakes, watching as the head of a serpent exploded in a fine red mist. He stumbled backwards as the snake simply turned, its other head now staring at him. The cobra did not care that it was now missing a head - it knew it was dying and it knew that the soldier was the reason why. With a hiss, the snake lunged–

 

The soldier fired off another volley before he slammed the helicopter door shut. They rose into the air, leaving behind the nest of twin cobras.

 

Rafelo did not move until he saw the light of the fully risen sun under the edges of his cloak.

 

He slowly sat up and lowered his cloak, holding his aching hand to his chest. A finger had been dislocated by the soldier’s boot. He pulled the glove off of his uninjured hand and shoved it between his teeth, breathing rapidly as he wrenched his finger back into place.

 

When the stars cleared from his eyes, he turned his gaze down to his hand. He slowly bent his fingers, hissing in pain as he watched the digits moving. He was lucky to have escaped with just an injured hand, he knew - he was still alive and wasn’t in custody. The only part that worried him now were the cobras that the soldiers had been shouting about.

 

Rafelo pushed himself to his feet and tied his cloak around his neck before drawing his knives. They weren’t overly large blades, but they were still better than trying to fend off the serpents with his bare hands.

 

He didn’t see a single live snake on his long walk back to his motorcycle.

 

He sheathed his blades as he ignored the rumbling of his empty stomach. Rafelo slowly righted his motorcycle, only to frown as he realized the gas cap was missing.  
“Of all the stupid things–seriously? The gas cap?” He stared down at the tank before looking out at the desert. It wouldn’t be worth it, he knew, to even begin to look through the desert for a gas cap that might not even be there. Rafelo stared down at the massive corpse of a dead cobra and smiled as he pulled out his knife…

With a stomach full of roasted snake and a gas cap made out of skin, bone and a little magic, Rafelo resumed his journey.


	5. Rowan talks to a priestess

Rowan Lane had only awoken screaming twice in his adult life.

The first time was when he had been awoken at gun point in his home.

The second time was tonight.

He had been pulled from his dreams of his previous life, of his lover and his old home and had awoken to the sight of a disembodied antlered skull leering over him. A scream flew from his lips before he could stop himself. The skull moved slightly backwards, as if it, too, was startled. The movement made the glowing jewels and silver threads adorning the skull softly chime in the quiet night. His hand grabbed the sword hilt on his small night stand and, with a flick of his wrist, the steel spine and mono filament wire extended. The light of the crystals was soon lost in the glow of green plasma as he brought the blade swinging down. In one strike, he cleaved the skull in half. 

Instead of falling to the bed, the skull simply vanished.

Rowan sat stock-still in bed as he stared at the space where the skull had previously been. His eyes were wide and searching. What had just happened? What had he seen? And, better yet, where had the skull gone?

He glanced at the blade in his hand and took a small comfort in the familiar weapon. It had been his stalwart companion for well over twenty years now, having seen him safely through all the battles he had fought in.

As reassuring as it was to have the sword within his hand, it did nothing to set his mind at ease.

Rowan climbed out of bed and looked around the room, his hands grasping the hilt as he moved with a warrior’s grace. His footfalls made nary a sound as he paced around the room, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

His searching took him out of his small bedroom and into the rest of his simple dwelling.

The glow of his sword illuminated the living space, letting his light-starved eyes see only the faintest outlines of the furniture and fixtures of the home. He saw the potbelly stove in the corner, the hewn table and chairs; the fireplace lay cold and barren, unneeded in the warmth of summer. He paced through the home, his back always to a wall, until he made his way to the only door. His left hand grasped the door knob and he pushed it open as he jumped back into a fighter’s stance.

The only thing he saw was a startled coyote running deeper into the night.

Rowan watched it leave as he slowly walked outside. He kept his back to the walls of his home as he circled the small building. His eyes strained to see movement in the moonless night; the stars overhead provided him the light he so desperately wanted, but they did not show him what he wanted to see.

Rowan Lane found himself standing alone in the middle of a field and holding a plasma sword that was worth more than the land he stood on.

He slowly lowered his blade as he made his way back inside his home. He felt more than a little ridiculous now, but he did mentally pat himself on the back for how sharp his instincts still were. After all, it had been years since he had last been called upon to be a soldier and he had dispatched the threat within seconds.

He’d worry about pants later.

 

Rowan snapped the blade closed after he did one final check of his home for intruders. The glowing light vanished as he placed the hilt back on his bedside table and sighed as he stared down at his uncomfortably thin mattress. He knew that sleep would not come back to him on this night - how could it, after what he had seen? He sighed as he grabbed a pair of pants and his simple shoes, struggling into them before fumbling for a shirt. He glanced back at the hilt of his sword and tucked it into his belt before he left his home.

His eyes surveyed the land as he made his way through the cornfields. His hand hovered over the hilt as he made his way into the village proper; the uneasy sensation that he was being watched had left him, but he was not letting his guard down just quite yet. What he had seen had startled him, shaken him right to his very core. He shuddered slightly as he hurried through the fields, his eyes lingering on the torches that burned within the village.

Rowan made his way through the sleeping settlement and up to a small temple on the outskirts of town. He knocked on the door before leaning against it. “Sister Ambrosia,” he called, “please, open the door.”  
No answer.  
He knocked again. “Sister Ambrosia, please. I wish to speak with you.”  
No answer, but he heard movement.  
“Maylee,” he said quietly, “please.”

The door opened.

Rowan hurried inside and closed the door behind him before he let out a long, relieved sigh. “Maylee,” he smiled.  
“Rowan, what is wrong?” She stared up to the tall man, not liking the flushed hue of his tanned face. “What happened?”  
“I…” He swallowed hard. “Do you have any wine?”  
“Wine…? Yes, I do.” She frowned up at him. “Rowan, what happened?”  
“Wine first.” He said as he rubbed his hands. He made his way over to the small sitting room and sank down into a well-worn couch.  
Maylee stared at him for a moment more before she went to fetch two glasses of wine…

She handed him a filled goblet before settling herself on a chair across from him, her legs crossed at the ankle. “Rowan,” she watched as the man drank deeply from the cup, “will you tell me what has made you so frightened?”  
“I saw something tonight. It was floating over my bed. I split the skull but it just vanished. No cries, no blood, no skull. It was as if it was never even there.”  
“Wait a moment,” she sipped her wine. “What did you see? You said a skull?”  
“Yes,” he nodded, “it was a skull, like a deer, but covered in jewels and silver. It was floating over my bed. I struck it down and it vanished.”  
Maylee took another sip of her wine before speaking. “This sounds like something you should consult with Brother Carano with, not I. This sounds like the workings of the Three-Faced God and nothing at all like the work of Goddess Amorosa.” She pressed the tips of two fingers against her heart before touching her lips and forehead.  
Rowan repeated the gesture before speaking. “I was afraid of that,” he said glumly, “I had hoped, though, that you might be able to give me guidance.”  
“If I could, I would, but I am afraid that Brother Carano will be of more help than I.”  
He took another drink before sighing. “Wonderful. Time for a lecture from the madman.”  
“He is not mad.” She hid her smile. “He is simply a devout follower of the god of magic.”  
“God of twisted words, more like.” He mumbled into his cup.  
“He is cryptic, yes,” Maylee admitted, “but Brother Carano is a brilliant man. He should be able to help you.”  
“Fine,” he drained the last few drops from his cup. “I will talk with him in the morning.”

Sister Ambrosia sat back on her chair as she looked the man over. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Rowan, or did you rouse me from my slumber just so you could drink my wine and ask me questions you didn’t want answers to?”  
He met her gaze for a moment before letting his eyes openly rove over her body. He found himself smiling at the sheer robe she wore; it did nothing to hide the body underneath it and they both knew it. Were they in the City, she would have been gainfully employed as an entertainer, he thought to himself. Supple, soft and shapely, Sister Ambrosia looked exactly as a priestess of the Goddess of Love and Fertility should look. Her milky skin was smooth and flawless; her sculpted cheeks and nose were dusted with freckles, adding to her youthful appearance – the only indication of her age were the very few, very fine lines around her emerald eyes. She often complained about them, but Rowan insisted they only added to her allure.

He never hid his appreciation of her beauty.

Maylee raised an eyebrow as she smiled; a faint blush filled her cheeks as he drank in the sight of her body. “Rowan,” her voice had grown deeper, “have you finally come around, my dear friend?”  
“Perhaps I have…”  
She stood and crossed the short distance between them. Her slight weight settled onto Rowan’s lap as her robe slipped free from her shoulders.  
He glanced down at the pert, bare breasts just inches from his chest before meeting her eyes with a smile.  
“I’ll ask again,” she purred as her arms came to rest across his shoulders. “Is there anything else that I can help you with?”  
He held her gaze as he licked his dry lips. He leaned up towards her and smiled as Maylee’s eyes closed. His lips were only an inch from her own now; she was close enough that he could feel her breath on his cheeks. He placed his hands on her sun-kissed shoulders, strong hands sliding down her arms…

…and closed her robe.

“No.” He smiled.

 

Maylee sat there for a moment in stunned silence as she tried to process what had just happened. She blinked and met Rowan’s gaze before lightly swatting his bearded cheek. “You’re terrible!”  
“You are terrible for falling for it!“ He retorted as he hugged her. "I thought you would know by now that it will not work!”  
“Goddess save me; I have finally found someone that is immune to me!” She playfully wailed as she sank into his arms. “He keeps resisting all of my charms and grace! I am a failure of a priestess for the goddess of love!”  
Rowan held her close as they laughed together in the dimly lit room…

 

By the time they had calmed, they found themselves sipping another glass of wine as they sat together on the couch. Rowan had an arm around her as she laid between his legs, her back against his front. His arm was across her stomach as she leaned her head against his broad chest.  
“Rowan,”  
He raised an eyebrow as he looked down to her.  
“I was thinking,”  
He sipped his wine but did not answer.  
“What would it take for you to finally bed me?”  
Rowan choked on his wine.

He sputtered for a moment before clearing his throat. “What? What kind of question is that?”  
“An honest one.”  
He gave a sigh as he hugged her closer. “You are insistent on this.”  
“Of course I am,” she smiled. “After all, you’re the most handsome man that I’ve ever seen.”  
“Are you sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I am the only one that will not swoon over you?”  
“That might play a part in it, too, yes,” she said primly.  
He leaned down and pressed a kiss onto the top of her head. “To answer your question, Maylee,” he leaned back onto the couch and sipped his wine again, “if I had to sleep with a woman to save the world, I would be sure to sleep with you.”

Maylee laid there silently, blinking as she tried to determine if that was truly a complement or not. Eventually deciding that it was, she sighed and snuggled a little closer to him. “You know the entire settlement thinks we’re lovers, right?”  
“Yes.”  
“You also know that Brother Augustus loathes you for that, right?”  
“Yes.”  
“So what are you going to do about it?”  
“Nothing.” He sipped his wine. “If you have not noticed, he leaves you alone now because he is too busy competing with me to prove that he is a better man.”  
“That would explain that wrestling match,” she said thoughtfully. “Has his ego recovered after you thoroughly trounced him in the town square?”  
“No. I don’t think it will, either. He was humiliated.”  
“Well, it is hardly fitting for a priest of the god of warfare to lose a fight.”  
“Maybe if he actually knew how to fight, it would not be an issue.”  
“Ouch,” she smiled as she sipped her wine, “that was harsh, Rowan.”  
“No, it was not. If I wanted to be harsh, I would comment on the size of his genitals.”  
“Rowan!” She found herself laughing. “You’re terrible!”  
“I am only speaking the truth.” He said simply.  
“So I take it you didn’t enjoy your wrestling match with him, then?”  
“Not at all,” he sighed. “It was too much like my first time with a lover - lots of bravado and build up and then a disappointing and very sudden conclusion that left me with a bad taste in my mouth.”  
Maylee spat her wine before howling with laughter. Rowan, despite himself, joined in her laughter…

 

They finished the bottle of wine before retiring to her bedroom. It was not uncommon for him to spend the night in her room - the two provided a comfort to one another that they couldn’t find elsewhere in the village. Maylee’s head came to rest on his chest as they curled against one another. His arm was around her waist; his heavy, calloused hand lightly stroked her side as he pressed a kiss onto the top of her head.  
“Maylee?”  
She made a soft noise but did not look up to him.  
“I…” His voice faded as he quietly sighed. “Thank you. For everything”  
“It is my pleasure,” she whispered as she kissed his chest. “Sleep well, Rowan; we’ll talk in the morning.”  
“Sleep well, Maylee…”


	6. Rowan talks to Brother Carano

Rowan awoke to the sensation of lips pressing against his shoulder. He did not move as he felt the kisses trailing over the ragged scars; instead, he fought to control his racing pulse. Rationally, he knew Maylee was kissing him and that he was not in danger, but the sudden wake-up had jarred him.   
"Stop trying to kiss them better," he grumbled as he pushed his face back into the soft pillow.  
"I'm not." She kissed another scar. "I'm giving my thanks to him. He deemed you worthy and spared you."  
"He is just an old wives' tale." Rowan groused.  
"Nonsense." Maylee's hand came to rest on his chest, her fingers tracing over the raised tissue. "Old Man River spared you. You know he only kills evil souls."  
"He is a myth." He finally pulled his head out of the pillow and looked over his shoulder at the woman. "He is not real. He is not the crocodile that bit me. And, moreover, no one passed any sort of judgement about me on that day."

 

Maylee sighed as she curled up against him. "Remind me to never wake you up with kisses again."  
Rowan closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten before placing his hand over hers. "I apologize. You know that I do not like to think of that time."  
"I know..." She closed her eyes as she basked in the warmth of his body. "But regardless of if it truly was him or not, you were spared. Hardly anyone who goes into the river makes it out alive. And the ones that do normally are missing limbs."  
Rowan pulled her arm a little closer; he tried to quell his unease at the memory of the massive crocodile that had nearly ripped him in half. "Maylee, please; let it go."  
"Sorry," she whispered.  
"You are not sorry." He glanced over his shoulder at her and winked before rolling over to face her. He placed a hand on her cheek and drew her closer. He kissed her forehead before sitting up. The blankets fell to his naked waist when he stretched; the room filled with the painful symphony of his popping joints.

 

The priestess winced. "You should really see someone about that, Rowan. That can't be healthy or good for you."  
"It is merely the price of being an old soldier." He said as he climbed out of bed and began to look for his pants.  
"Try by the dresser," Maylee took her robe from the bedpost. She crawled out of bed and drew her robe over her naked body before she straightened out the bedding.  
"Thank you," Rowan said as he found his simple breeches. "And thank you for ensuring the curtains are closed. I did not want a repeat of last time." He didn't think he'd ever forget the amount of catcalling Sister Oiriana had done upon seeing his naked form.  
"We wouldn't have these issues if you wore something to bed..."  
He turned and gave her a dry look as he fixed his belt. "You have no room to talk, Maylee."  
"I am a priestess of a goddess of love," she said as she draped herself across her bed. "I must always be ready to serve my Goddess; it's in the job description!" Her laughter filled the room.  
Rowan fought to keep a dour expression on his bearded face but he found himself laughing as Maylee threw her legs into the air.

 

"You are a fool," he said as came to stand beside her bed.  
"Ah, but I am a holy fool!" She grinned up to him. Her hands were held under her knees.  
"I suppose that is one way to say it, yes." He held out his hand to her and helped her back to her feet. "Is there anything you need of me?"  
"No, not that I can think of. Everything's taken care of for now. All I need to do is prepare for this evening's sermon, but I have plenty of time. It is still early enough in the day."  
"Alright."  
"Will I see you tonight?"  
"For worship, yes, but I will stay the night in my own home."  
"You could stay here again..."  
He did not miss her quietly hopeful tone. "I know, Maylee, but it would not be proper."  
"Proper be damned," she said glumly, "I don't like being alone and I know you don't like it either."  
Rowan ignored the comment directed at himself, just as he had done for over a year. "You could have any man or woman that you wanted. They would be happy to be your lover."  
"I don't want a lover, Rowan." Her voice was quiet. "I want a friend. That's all."  
Rowan opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him with a shake of her head.  
"I want a friend, Rowan, a real one. I want someone that I don't have to be Sister Ambrosia with. I want someone who knows who I am. I want someone who knows that my real name is Maylee Smith, that I collect used to ladybugs and butterflies as a child and that I once hid a skink in my mother's shoe." She turned to face him, her hands taking his. "You know no one else here will give me that. You know I have been trying for years to find that. And you know that no one will, because I am the chosen one of Goddess Amorosa. I am her Beloved. I am Sister Ambrosia, the speaker for the Goddess. We both know that outside of this room, Maylee Smith doesn't exist; only Sister Ambrosia remains and her life is dedicated to Goddess Amorosa. Sister Ambrosia is a conduit for her Goddess' will upon this earth and if anyone touches the hand of Maylee Smith, they will contaminate the Goddess' chosen. No one listens, though, when I say otherwise. This is how it's always been done here in Renaissance. The priestess lives for her goddess and her goddess alone without a care for her own wants... But I'm selfish." She met his gaze. "Please, Rowan; stay here with me."

 

He blinked as he tried to find his voice. He had known that Maylee was lonely and he had known it for years, but he had never realized it was to this extent. She was always so happy, so quick to smile and laugh and dance in the town square. It was painful for him to see her openly begging for him to stay. She was offering him a home and her company; he would have a warm bed to come back to each night after he worked in the fields and someone to greet him each morning. In his heart, he knew that he wanted exactly that. And yet...

 

"I am sorry, Maylee, but I cannot give you what you are asking of me." He held her hands a little tighter as his heart sank. "At least, I cannot give you that just yet. I want it, I truly do, but I need more time."  
"How much?" She frowned. "How much time do you need? It's been years, Rowan! You have been hiding away in your little shack because of him and your aton--"  
Rowan pulled his hands away sharply. "No, Maylee. No. You know why I cannot--"  
"Stop it," her voice was a low whisper. "He is gone, Rowan. He is gone and he has nothing to do with you anymore. With your life. With us." She hugged her arms. "With me." Maylee shook her head before she met his gaze. "Please, I want to help you. I want to give you a real home." Maylee did not notice Rowan's incredulous stare as she hugged herself. "I've watched you for years, you know. You've lived in your self-imposed isolation for years now, ever since you were healthy enough to walk. I know you say you're repenting for your sins, but at what point does your repentance turn into torture?" Her sad eyes met his. "You're hurting yourself. I can see it, plain as day. You're still hurting and all the years of being alone are making it worse. I can see how your heart still bleeds, even after all of this time, and I know it still bleeds for him. He doesn't deserve that and you know it." She sighed. "Even after all of this time, you still mourn--"  
"I mourn for what I lost and for what I have done." His eyes were as firm as his tone. "I do not mourn for him. I mourn for everything that I had lost when he betrayed me. I mourn the loss of my family, of my home, of the life I once had. I mourn for what I did in that life." He held her gaze. "That is why I mourn and that is why I must repent."  
"I see. So you say you are missing your old life, but yet, you must force yourself to be alone to atone for what you did during that life? Rowan, my dearest friend, I think you are deluding yourself." She reached out to him again, her hand seeking his. "I don't think you really want to return to your old life. I think you're just afraid to let go of the past and to start living your life for yourself." Her fingers laced with his. "It's time to move on, Rowan. It's time for you to be happy in your own life..." She met his gaze with a soft, sad smile. "So please, stay here with me."

 

Rowan blinked as she squeezed his hand. He knew that she was right - and worse yet, she knew that she was right. For all of her smiles and laughter, there was a fearfully sharp mind behind those blue eyes. It was something that he loved that about her, but oh, how he hated having that same wit used upon himself! "I..." He lowered his gaze. "I will think on your offer." He finally said. "I promise."  
"Thinking means nothing," she mumbled as he pulled her into a hug, "at least, it doesn't mean anything coming from anyone else. From you, though..." Her cheek came to rest against his bare chest. "I know you'll actually think about it."  
"Indeed." He kissed the top of her head.

 

 

After a simple breakfast, Rowan left Maylee's home within the temple. The conversation they shared over their cold cereal and berries had been banal, at best - a welcome change after their earlier discussion. She bid him farewell as she drew on the white silk robes of Amorosa and lit the brazier that sat in the middle of the temple. He breathed in the scent of roses and made the sign of his goddess before stepping out into the town proper.

 

He tried not to notice the stares that followed him as he made his way through the town of Renaissance, but he could feel eyes burning holes into his back. He knew the rumor mill would be in overdrive today. He wouldn't let himself worry about the stares; they meant nothing to him. He ignored the stares of Brother Augustus as he made his way down the dusty thoroughfare, refusing to even acknowledge the anger of the spurned priest. His attention was focused on the round building made of blackened wood as he tried to steel his nerves. He knew it would do him no good; there was nothing he could do to prepare himself for a meeting with Brother Carano inside the temple of the Three Faced God.

 

 

The inside of the temple was dark, lit only by candles that burned within their sconces. They threw dancing shadows across the wall, filling the temple with the three faces of the god. Rowan knew the names, but he did not know which face belong to which name. The differences between Augur, Academia and Arcana were known to everyone within Renaissance - well, to everyone except Rowan. Try as he might, he never could remember them.

 

The heavy incense of the temple crashed over him like a tidal wave. It was so overpowering that it was staggering and, worse yet, it was intoxicating. The temple-goers said it mimicked what the Majii felt as they cast their spells, but Rowan had no way to prove the accuracy of their claims. All he knew is that if he spent much longer in here, he'd swear that even he could cast magic.

 

He stepped into the sanctuary and made his way up to the dais to where Brother Carano stood. He bowed to the priest and flinched as the man turned to meet him; he hated the black robe he wore and the mask that circled his entire head - he could never tell which way Brother Carano was truly facing.  
"Greetings, Rowan," his voice filtered through the three mouths of the mask, "what brings you to my temple this morning?"  
"Greetings, Brother Carano," he hid his unease as the shrouded man silently descended the dais. "I have been told to come to you about something that I saw last night. I spoke with Sister Ambrosia but she said that you and your god," he drew a circle in the air with three spread fingers, "would be the better ones to ask."  
"Wise, she is." The mask spun around his head, stopping to show him the wizened face of Academia. "Come, let us go to the sitting room. My pulpit is hardly appropriate for a conversation." Carano drifted away from Rowan as his mask began to slowly rotate about his cloaked head.

 

Rowan didn't know where Brother Carano's eyes were, but he somehow knew that the man had seen him shudder.

 

The priest held open the door to a small sitting room. Rowan stepped into the room but did not sit until the other man had done so. He settled himself down onto a couch and looked to the masked man, wondering how he was able to move without having his robes reveal his body.  
"Now that we are in a place better suited for conversation, please tell me what you saw." Brother Carano's voice was pleasant - and was still coming from each mouth of the mask.  
"Yes, of course." Rowan sat up a little straighter. "Last night, I was awoken to the sight of a skull floating over my bed. It was like the skull of a deer, but there were jewels and silver chains strung between the prongs of the antlers. It had no eyes, but I could feel it staring at me."  
"A jeweled deer skull?" He half-asked as the mask stopped its spinning, once again showing Rowan the ancient, bearded face. "How very interesting. What did it do?"  
"It... did not do anything." Rowan admitted almost lamely. "Or, rather, I did not give it the chance to do anything. I struck the skull with my blade and split it in half."  
"What happened to the skull?"  
"It vanished. I thought it would fall to the bed, but it simply vanished into the air."  
"How very interesting." Brother Carano nodded slowly; his mask had not moved. "And why did you think to come and see me about this?"

 

The man frowned. "Because I have no idea what it means and it appears that you do."  
Brother Carano laughed at that. "Indeed, I do know something. However, I am afraid that the entire truth of it would be damaging to your mind."  
He did not question that, for fear that Brother Carano was telling the truth. "I see. What can you tell me, then, that will not harm my mind?"  
Brother Carano smiled an unseen smile. "The skull that you saw is not real but it itself is real."  
"What?"  
"It belongs to someone but what you saw was not them."  
Rowan's brow knitted in confusion. "I do not understand."  
"I did not expect you to." The bearded face met Rowan's gaze. "What you saw last night was, indeed, magic. Someone was watching you."  
"Who?" He felt the hairs on the back of his neck starting to rise. "A majii?"  
"No. That was no majii."  
"Then what was it?"  
"It was many things, several of which are not important. What is important, though, is that you saw it. This is an omen, a sign of things to come." Brother Carano stood up. "I cannot tell you more, Rowan, but soon you shall see more than the world before your eyes."  
Rowan's frown deepened. "Brother Carano, I--"  
"I cannot tell you more." His tone left no room for argument.  
"...I understand." Rowan, too, took to his feet. "I thank you for your time. Good day, Brother Carano."  
"Good day, Rowan. Be well." The priest bowed his head as the man left the room.

 

Had Rowan known the faces of the God, he would have known that it was the face of Academia that had spoken to him... and not the blinded face of the Augur.


End file.
